Brighter than Sunshine
by rae7788
Summary: In which Mike has a bad day, and Harvey helps him deal with an issue from his past. Bromantic hurt/comfort. Now a two-shot!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Suits. I'm too broke to even justify buying the first season on dvd.

A/N: This is my first fanfiction! I've been a long-time lurker/anonymous reviewer, but I've finally decided to just go ahead and publish something. I'm absolutely in love with suits and can't wait til season 2 returns. I hope you enjoy this and that everyone seems decently in-character. Unfortunately, the medical condition Mike is dealing with in this story is something that my sister has been struggling with for the past few years. So me writing this was just my way of dealing with my feelings on the matter. Other than that, I don't know anything about the law, insurance, or medicine, so just pretend that it makes sense for the sake of the story. Thanks!

Brighter Than Sunshine

It was just one of those days. So Mike should have known that The Dreaded Thing was going to happen. He should have known it when the clock struck midnight and he was just sitting down at his desk to proofread a 700 page brief for Louis. He should have known later that morning at 7:15 when he finally finished working and slumped over at his desk to catch a power nap. He definitely should have known at 7:37 when Kyle had awakened him by somehow pulling his swively desk chair out from under him (seriously, how had he done that?). He should have known when he had entered Harvey's office at 8:02 (still icing his lip from where he had cut it banging it on the desk during the rude awakening) and Harvey had handed him half a dozen files and told him to do research on all of them by lunch. And Mike definitely should have suspected The Dreaded Thing would happen when Louis called him in at 9:08, thoroughly traumatized him via an attempted discussion of his latest sexual endeavors, and loaded him with 300-page brief to edit by the end of the day.

Everything else that could go wrong that day did. He spilled coffee on his white shirt, angered Harvey when he forgot to bring a file that Harvey needed for a meeting, and didn't have time to eat breakfast or lunch due to his heavy workload. To top it all off, his headache was slowly snowballing into a full-blown migraine.

So Mike probably should have expected that The Dreaded Thing would happen that day, just to top off all the crap karma was already trying to dish him. But when The Dreaded Thing did happen, he realized it just a second too late, as he always did. Although The Dreaded Thing was constantly haunting some part of the back corners of his mind, he never realized it was going to happen in time. It was always just an instant too late and there was never any time to do anything about it, not even enough time to swear or shout a warning. It just happened.

(SUITS)

And so it happens the same way as always on this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. It is 3:26 and Mike has just gotten up from his desk to get his 5th cup of coffee for the day (he hasn't slept in 36 hours, after all) when he feels an intense wave of dizziness sweep over him. He realizes that he is shaking and clammy and vaguely wonders why but shrugs it off, assuming he's just hungry. He really hopes he won't faint, as all the associates are surrounding him at their desks and he wouldn't want to have to deal with their taunts about his "weak constitution."

As he makes his way over to the coffee pot, thinking about how he can get back into Harvey's good graces after his earlier slip-up with the file, he realizes that something a bit more serious than hunger might be plaguing him, because his legs are beginning to shake and black dots are beginning to dance in front of his eyes. But by now it's too late to do anything and he briefly laments the fact that he has placed himself in the center of the associate's area on his journey to get coffee, where everyone will now have a perfect view of The Dreaded Thing.

_I_ _probably should have warned Harvey that this might happen_ is his last thought before his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses.

(SUITS)

Harvey, on the other hand, has been having a pretty good day up until 3:26 when The Dreaded Thing comes to pass. He and Mike had closed a particularly tricky case the previous day and he had actually gotten home by 6 that night. He ate a nice dinner, watched Star Trek reruns, and went to bed early— all in all, the perfect evening. As a result, he feels well-rested and ready to tackle some new cases. He arrives at the office at 7:30 and rifles through the files on his desk before picking about a half a dozen of them for Mike to start going through. He sends Donna to fetch Mike at 7:45 but the kid doesn't appear until 8:02 and he is holding an ice cube to his lower lip, his blue eyes looking particularly sad and puppy-like today.

After working with Mike for almost a year, Harvey is pretty in tune with his associate. So he probably should have known or at least suspected that something bad was going to happen. Not The Dreaded Thing, of course, because Mike hasn't told Harvey about The Dreaded Thing yet. But Harvey should have known something was up with his associate. For example, Mike is wearing the same suit as the day before (but he's changed the tie at least to make it look like a different outfit). His white shirt under his jacket has recent coffee stains on it. He has bags under his eyes and his movements are oddly zombie-like.

Harvey notices all of this but doesn't take it that seriously. It won't be the first time that Mike has pulled an all-nighter at the office and it probably won't be the last. He knows he should make Mike catch a nap on his couch but he doesn't want to deal with the fight that the stubborn associate would inevitably put up against an imposed nap-time. Still, he figures he should ask Mike if he's okay. Not that he cares or anything of course, but the kid is a reflection of him after all and if there is something wrong he should know about it before Mike does something stupid.

"You look like shit," are the words that leave Harvey's mouth though, instead of his planned "Hey buddy, are you okay? You look pretty tired."

Mike looks offended, and that's another sign that Harvey should have caught that signaled something bad was going to happen. Usually Mike is always ready to banter and spar wittily with Harvey. Today, however, he just sighs wearily, scoops up the files Harvey has assigned him and leaves. Harvey watches him leave in surprise but doesn't dwell on it; there's work to be done.

(SUITS)

He sees Mike a few times throughout the day but doesn't interact with him as much as usual. The first time is at 9:15 when he enters the bathroom and finds Mike splashing cold water on his face and chanting something under his breath about repressing and erasing everything Louis has just tried to tell him about his "mistress of the night" from his eidetic memory. Harvey is bemused but doesn't say anything. He doesn't feel like dealing with Louis today.

He sees Mike again when he is leaving to grab lunch. He thinks about asking Mike to come since he's hardly seen the kid all day and he had, after all, been a big help on yesterday's case. The puppy deserves a treat, right? However, he changes his mind when he sees that Mike is clearly too focused on work to be dragged away. The associate is sitting at his desk, the omnipresent headphones in his ears. He's chugging a coffee and typing furiously. Harvey does not want to deal with a hyper, rambling associate at lunch, so he goes alone.

He sees Mike early in the afternoon, at 1:18 when he's getting ready to leave for an important meeting with a new client and this time it's on bad terms. He had given Mike the file last night before he left the office and told Mike to research a precedent for closing the contract of the client. When he arrives at Mike's desk at 1:18, however, Mike doesn't have the precedent ready for him. He looks panicky and says he forgot and Harvey knows it's an honest mistake caused by a lack of sleep. But it doesn't stop him from getting angry and taking it out on Mike. After dragging Mike to his office, thoroughly berating him, and slamming a copy of a 700-page brief into his associate's arms, he sends him back to his desk to edit the brief in shame, tail tucked between his legs.

Harvey goes to the meeting and nails it anyway, despite the lack of precedent. He congratulates himself and decides that maybe he was too harsh on Mike. The precedent had hardly been important in the end. Harvey had just pressed where it hurt until he closed the deal for the happy client. He decides to call Mike into his office when he gets back and apologize and make him go home at 6 tonight so the kid can actually get some sleep for the first time in 2 days.

He has just decided this as he's walking in the doors of Pearson Hardman at 3:26, back from his meeting, when all of a sudden he hears a commotion near the associate's area. He hurries over, trying to look superior and nonchalant while awkwardly speed-walking down the hall. After all, senior partners don't care about the problems of associates. But still, he can't help but think about Mike. As he draws closer he hears someone shouting "someone call 911!" and he breaks into a jog, forgetting his dignity. Mike is still weighing heavily on his brain and he feels deep inside that something is wrong with his associate. He tries to shrug off this irrational feeling as he nears the jumble of associates who seem to all have formed a circle around one person who they are watching in various degrees of panic. Louis is there and he looks uncharacteristically alarmed. Harvey quickly scans the associates in the clump, looking for Mike's familiar face. He feels his heart sinking into his stomach as he fails to come up with Mike's face, knowing that Something Bad has happened. He pushes his way into the center of the group and freezes suddenly, staring at the associate on the ground. He shouldn't be shocked that it's Mike that's in trouble (because when is the kid not in trouble?) but he still is. Because there on the floor of Pearson Hardman at 3:26 in the afternoon, Mike Ross is having a seizure.

(SUITS)

When Mike awakens, he feels strangely disoriented and disconnected from body. His eyelids feel heavier than the 800 page Kellerman brief Louis had given him last week and he struggles to lift them. He vaguely wonders where he is and why he's lying on what he assumes (based on his discomfort level) is the ground. As a greater awareness begins to creep into his consciousness, he becomes cognizant of a cacophony voices in the background, all of them sounding concerned.

"Mike? C'mon, kid, open your eyes," a man is saying close to Mike's left ear. Mike recognizes the voice instantly but he can't place it with a face. "….just open your eyes. You and I are going to have a lot to talk about when you wake up." The voice continues. Though that last statement seems vaguely threatening, the tone of the speaker seems both concerned and anxious and Mike feels like this is strange for some reason; like he's never heard the speaker sound this way before. He feels a gentle hand smooth the hair back from his forehead.

Mike blinks a few times and finally manages to pry his eyes open while trying to struggle into a semi-sitting position. He is still disoriented and has no memory of what has just happened to him. He looks around unseeingly, his mind scrambling to fill in the many blanks of the situation.

"Whoa, easy there, Mike," the voice says, helping Mike ease up into a fully-sitting position.

"Dad?" Mike asks blindly, trying to place this mysterious speaker. The hands helping him freeze for a moment before letting go of him.

"No, Mike, it's me, it's Harvey," the voice says cautiously.

"Where's Mom? Is Grammy ok?" Mike blinks to clear his vision and glances around for the first time. He is at Pearson Hardman with Harvey, he realizes. Donna, Louis, and all of the associates are surrounding them for some reason, and Harvey looks uncharacteristically pale. Nothing is making sense anymore and his eyelids are starting to feel dangerously heavy again. He settles back into a laying-down position.

"Your Gram is fine, buddy. Why don't you just rest for awhile," Harvey says.

"Ok," Mike mumbles, his eyes closing as he begins to fade. "Hey Harvey? Can you tell Louis that I don't want to play tennis with him next week? Tell him that the aliens are going to kidnap me this weekend. Will you tell him?" Mike knows he's not making any sense but it feels very important that he tells Harvey this.

Harvey chuckles. "Yes, I'll tell him. You just rest."

And so Mike drifts back into unconsciousness, feeling Harvey's hand smoothing his hair off his forehead again and feeling strangely safe, although he still has no clue what has happened.

(SUITS)

The next time that Mike wakes up, he is immediately far more coherent and lucid. He opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings, trying to remember what events had transpired that led to him being in what appears to be a hospital room. One glance out the window shows that it is nighttime, although he doesn't know what time exactly. He runs through the things that he does know at this point: He's in the hospital. His whole body aches, although there's no one specific body part that is in more pain than the others. He realizes that his tongue hurts and that he must have bit it at some point during—

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit,_ Mike thinks, the pieces of what has happened suddenly falling into place. The ache in his muscles is agonizingly familiar, as is the pain from biting his tongue. _God damnit. Another seizure._

Mike has never actually said the words "I have epilepsy" out loud. He prefers to think of his problem by the extremely mature moniker 'The Dreaded Thing', or simply as 'seizures' when he's talking to his neurologist and doesn't want to sound like a 5 year old. Other than that, he tries not to talk about it with anyone except his Grammy and, on the two occasions when Trevor had witnessed a seizure, he and Trevor would talk about it because it freaked Trevor out. But Mike refuses to admit to anyone that he has a problem because saying it out loud like that— "I have epilepsy"— means that he can't take it back and un-admit it; that it's a permanent condition. Mike's neurologist had told him when he was fourteen that Mike would probably grow out of it someday when his hormones settled after puberty. So Mike decided then and there that saying he had epilepsy out loud would jinx it. It's irrational, he knows, and he's completely in denial of his problem. But part of him is still hoping that if he just holds out a little longer, just another year or two, he'll grow out of it and it won't be a problem anymore. But that hasn't happened. And in fact, Mike's been having seizures more often lately. He's had two since starting at Pearson Hardman a year ago. (Both of them had happened at home, fortunately, and he had just called in sick and slept both of them off.) It's because he's been pulling so many all-nighters and not eating properly, but there's not much he can do about that. He's an associate for Christ's sake; he's expected to put in 80 hour work weeks. There's no time for sleep or eating balanced meals.

Mike is distracted from his musing by the sound of movement next to his bed. He looks over and jumps. Harvey is dozing in the uncomfortable-looking chair next to his bed, his expensive three-piece suit rumpled and his hair slightly messy, like he has run his hands through it a few too many times. He's asleep but on the verge of waking, if his rustling and shifting are any indication. And sure enough, Mike only has to wait about a minute before Harvey blinks, rubs his eyes, and takes in his surroundings. Once he realizes where he is, he immediately looks to Mike.

"You're awake," Harvey remarks in surprise, his voice gravelly.

"Excellent observation," Mike says, his voice equally gravelly from misuse. "What time is it?"

Harvey pulls out his phone and checks. "11:00. How are you feeling? You look like shit."

"Thanks. You look good too. This whole caring-about-the-wellbeing-of-my-associate thing gives you a nice glow," Mike grins.

"I do not care! You're a reflection of me, and I care about me. So I can't have you going around and having seizures and scaring everyone all the time," Harvey insists, but the words seem forced. Mike only dimly recalls the first time he woke up after the seizure, but he can't help but think about the way Harvey had helped him sit up, answered his irrational questions, and smoothed his hair out of his face. Not to mention the fact that Harvey has apparently sat by his bedside for the past 7 hours. Actions speak louder than words, and Harvey's actions have spoken loud enough. So Mike decides that he doesn't need to force Harvey to say he cares out loud. At least not today.

"So what happened exactly? Besides the whole seizure thing, I mean," Mike changes the subject.

"Well I don't know much either. Apparently you were on your way to the coffee pot when you just sort of collapsed and started convulsing. Harold called 911 and Donna, who apparently knows first aid, timed it and made sure you were able to breathe. You were gone for about 4 minutes. After that you woke up and were disoriented, nothing you said made much sense. Then you fell asleep just as the ambulance got to the office. And here you are now. How do you feel?" Harvey recites all of this very quickly, as though he doesn't want to think about it or relive it.

"I'm fine. Just sore and tired. And I'm sorry if I said anything weird right after when I woke up. I'm usually pretty out of it," Mike says, figuring at this point Harvey deserves honest answers to his questions. He looks freaked out and has sat in an uncomfortable chair for Mike all day, so the least Mike can do is answer his questions.

"So this has happened before in the past," Harvey confirms. "Why didn't you tell anyone? How long has this been going on?"

"I don't like to talk about it. And The Dreaded Thing only happens once every few months—" Mike begins, but Harvey cuts him off, smirking.

"You actually call epilepsy 'The Dreaded Thing'? How old are you? 6?"

"Well, I was 7, actually, the first time it happened," Mike says, and Harvey immediately sobers up.

"Do they know why you have seizures? Can you tell when one's going to happen?" Harvey asks, his voice much gentler than usual.

"No, I can't ever tell until the very last second and by then it's too late for me to do anything about it. And none of my neurologists know why it happens. They thought I would outgrow it by the time I was twenty, but it just never stopped. It gets worse though, when I don't sleep a lot or eat properly. After my parents died, when I was 11, I had a ton of them because I had nightmares all the time about their car crash and couldn't sleep," Mike admits softly, not sure what has brought on this sudden need to share his past with his mentor. He looks up at Harvey and hopes that he won't see pity on his boss's face. He can't stand pity. Instead he's surprised to see that Harvey looks angry.

"Do you mean to tell me that you've been deliberately been pulling all-nighters and working yourself to exhaustion knowing that this might happen? God damnit, Mike, you've got to take better care of yourself," Harvey snaps.

"It's not like I can help it, Harvey!" Mike snaps, trying not to sound whiny. "You and Louis both give me a million things to do, and there's only so many hours in the day. And I actually like this job and want to keep it, so I do all the shit you guys ask of me. It's not my fault my brain's all fucked up and I have seizures, Harvey!" Mike is shouting now, and he doesn't know where this sudden anger is coming from. He's horrified by the way his voice rises and cracks slightly at the end of his rant and he slumps back onto the pillows of the hospital bed, suddenly exhausted.

Harvey leans forward to look directly into Mike's eyes. "Mike," he says earnestly, "pay attention because I'm only going to say this once. You should have told me about this from the beginning. You know I wouldn't dump stuff on you as heavily as I do now if I had known; I'm not a complete bastard. You need to sleep more and eat better from now on. And I won't give you less work, because I know that you'll think that I think that you're weak if I do that. But I'll do my best to get Louis to lay off you. And I'll give you work in shifts instead of dumping all of it on you at once. Now that I know about this problem, we can fix it, Mike. But I need you to be more honest with me about his kind of stuff from here on out. You're my responsibility, and it's my job to have your back on stuff like this."

Mike blinks rapidly. It's been so long since someone has cared this much about Mike's problems. His Grammy cares, of course, but now that she's older it's his job to take care of her and not the other way around. It's both scary and nice at the same time, this whole trusting-someone-else-to-look-out-for-you thing.

"You're right. I should have told you. But I don't like to talk about, and I had hoped it would never happen at the office. I've just been used to dealing with it on my own for so long," Mike admits.

"Well you don't have to anymore. Donna threatened to chop my balls off if I didn't have a heart-to-heart with you and make that clear to you. She was here earlier, by the way. She left those flowers for you," Harvey indicates the bouquet that's sitting on the table beside Mike's bed and Mike can tell by Harvey's tone that it's time to stop talking about emotional stuff and go back to normal.

So they sit and watch reruns of _friends_ and banter like they usually do until a doctor comes and tells Mike he's being discharged for the night as long as he promises to call his neurologist and schedule an appointment tomorrow.

"What will your neurologist do when you see him?" Harvey asks as they sit on a bench and wait for Ray to pick them up. It's about midnight now and Mike is exhausted, but he's grateful that he doesn't have to spend the night in the hospital.

"I probably won't even call him. The neurologist can't do much since he doesn't know what causes the seizures. He'll probably just tell me not to drive, which I don't do anyways," Mike shrugs.

"That's why you ride that stupid bike everywhere? Jesus, I just thought you rode it because you're secretly a five year old girl."

"That's funny, Harvey. Me as a five year old girl. That one never gets old. You should keep using it," Mike grumbles, rolling his eyes.

"Are you taking medicine for this?" Harvey asks suddenly.

"Nah, I tried a bunch of different types in high school but none of them made a difference and a lot of them messed with my moods and my attention span," Mike yawns, hoping Ray will show up soon before he falls asleep on Harvey's shoulder.

"Well it's been years. Don't you think you should try medicine again now that you're not going through puberty?" Harvey persists.

"I dunno. I don't really want to go through all of that again. And medicine is expensive," Mike says, rubbing at his tired eyes now.

"You are such a colossal idiot sometimes. If you told Jessica about this, she could update your Pearson Hardman insurance from the basic plan and it would cover all of your treatments and medicines. Honestly, you call yourself a lawyer but can't even figure that out? It was a lucky day for you when I adopted you as my puppy. God only know where you'd be right now without Donna and I," Harvey snarks, but there's no real bite to it. Mike just shrugs and yawns some more, his eyes sliding shut and his head drifting dangerously close to Harvey's shoulder. Harvey is staring straight ahead and steadfastly pretending not to notice this development.

He rests his head against Harvey for barely a minute before Ray pulls up and honks at them. They clamber tiredly into the car and Ray begins to drive. Mike closes his eyes again and leans against the cool glass of the window.

"Mike?" Harvey queries, sounding pensive. "What did you mean earlier when you said your brain was fucked up?"

"Jesus, Harvey, what is this, 20 questions? I swear to god, if you want me to tell you all about my past and cry on your shoulder like a five year old girl while you psychoanalyze me, it's not going to happen," Mike says wearily, trying to deflect. Harvey sees right through him, of course.

"I'm serious, Mike. What did you mean by it?" Harvey seems to feel like it's important that he knows and Mike sighs and capitulates, knowing that once Harvey wants information there's no use trying to hide it because he always gets what he wants eventually. Damn closers.

"What do you think I meant by it, Harvey? My brain's clearly not wired correctly— I have an eidetic memory and seizures. That's not normal. I suppose it's just the universe's way of balancing things out. I have to pay for the benefits of having an eidetic memory somehow, right? So I have seizures to go along with the memory. Fair's fair, right?" He hates how bitter he sounds, because he knows that it could be so much worse, that he could have a tumor or some genetic disorder. But it's still hard to deal with.

"There's nothing wrong with your brain," Harvey says, sounding surprisingly earnest, like he really wants Mike to believe that. "I wouldn't hire an associate who had something wrong with his brain. It would reflect on me poorly."

Mike can't help but laugh at that. He dozes off for the rest of the ride and is surprised when he opens his eyes and finds himself at Harvey's condo.

"Well, are you coming or what?" Harvey asks his bewildered associate. "Are you just going to sleep in the back of the car?"

Mike is too tired and surprised to argue, so he just climbs out of the car, thanks Ray, and follows Harvey up to his apartment.

"Why am I here?" He asks dumbly as Harvey unlocks the door and pushes him inside.

"Weren't you listening to the doctor? He said someone needed to keep an eye on you tonight. I won't have you going back to your crappy apartment and having another seizure. Donna would murder me," Harvey says, disappearing into his bedroom. He emerges a minute later, holding a pair of pajama pants and a Harvard t-shirt for Mike and pointing him to the bathroom. Mike changes and shuffles back to the couch, his exhausted body on autopilot. He sinks onto the uber-comfy couch, letting out a sigh of contentment as the stress fades away from his shoulders and his back. He drifts off almost instantly, but regains consciousness briefly when he feels Harvey come over, stick a pillow under his head, pull off his socks, and drape a blanket over him.

Mike smiles, thinking he has never felt so perfectly comfy before in his entire life.

"Thanks, Harvey," Mike mumbles. "This counts as caring, you know."

"Hmmm," is all Harvey says, before ruffling Mike's hair, flicking off the lights, and heading to his own room. "Night, kid."

Then Mike drifts away to unconsciousness for the 3rd time since 3:26 that afternoon.

(SUITS)

The next time Mike wakes up, there is sunlight streaming through the window of Harvey's apartment on Mike's face. He blinks, his eyes feeling gritty. He's still sore, but feels much better now that he's slept for 11 hours, and— _wait, what? It's 11 in the morning? Harvey's going to kill me!_ He thinks as he leaps of the couch in a weird ballerina move that ends with him smashing his shin against the coffee table. Swearing fiercely, he hops on one leg to the kitchen where he had dropped his messenger bag the night before to grab his phone so he can call Harvey and grovel and apologize. He stops, however, when he finds a note addressed to him on the kitchen table.

_**I don't want to see you in the office before noon today,**_ Mike reads Harvey's familiar handwriting_**. Call Ray to bring you in. You can borrow a suit but don't tell anyone**_. Mike smirks at that. _**We have a meeting with Jessica at 1:00 to discuss your insurance. We're going to deal with this problem, whether you like it or not, puppy.**_

Mike doesn't know if he should feel touched or offended that Harvey is inserting himself in Mike's life like this. It would make Grammy happy. She has always worried about Mike's seizure problem and feared that nobody will be around to take care of him when she is gone someday.

He takes a quick shower and digs around Harvey's closet to find a suit that isn't three pieces. He already gets teased enough about being Harvey's golden boy as it is; he'll get destroyed if he shows up to work dressed like the man. He freezes for a minute as he realizes he will probably be mocked mercilessly by the other associates for what happened yesterday. He had had a seizure in school once in 9th grade and had been teased for all of high school about it. He has a bad feeling that he will receive the same treatment today, since most of the Harvard douches are about as mature as 9th graders. _Oh well_, he thinks. _I can deal with this. I've dealt with much worse things before_.

Finally he manages to find an old-but-still-nice two piece suit. He mourns the fact that Harvey doesn't own any skinny ties and vows that he will buy him one for his next birthday. Then he calls Ray and hitches a ride to Pearson Hardman. He grabs lunch from the hot dog vender outside of the building and makes his way into the office, trying to choke back nervousness at seeing everyone after having a seizure in front of them yesterday.

He is surprised when he steps into the associate's area and nobody mocks him. Maybe Louis or Harvey have threatened them, but they all seem genuinely glad that he's ok. Harold slaps him awkwardly on the back, and Kyle doesn't say anything that is overtly derogatory or offensive, which is a first. He drops his messenger bag on the floor at his cubicle and heads off to find Donna and thank her for the flowers.

She clucks and fusses over him like a fierce mother hen, hugging him and smoothing back his hair and scolding him for not having told her about his seizures in the first place.

"Thanks for the flowers, Donna," Mike says. "And thanks for threatening Harvey into talking to me last night."

Donna beams at this. "Oh, Mike," she says, glancing fondly into Harvey's office where Harvey is immersed in reading a contract. "I didn't threaten him. I didn't tell him to talk to you at all, he must have just used me as a cover-up story. But you can't tell him that I told you! You know Harvey, he can never admit he cares. I knew he would get involved in fixing this though after I saw the look on his face when you were laying on the ground yesterday. I knew it!" She laughs triumphantly, hugs him one last time, and pushes him in the direction of Harvey's office.

Mike feels almost shy as he walks in. After all he has shared with Harvey in the past 24 hours, he can't help but feel vulnerable. Now that Harvey knows everything, he has the power to use it to hurt him. Mike knows he won't, but it's a strange feeling, depending on and confiding in someone else.

"Hi," he says inanely, trying not to sound like a blushing schoolgirl in front of his mentor.

Harvey looks up from what he's reading and glances over Mike quickly, as if to make sure that Mike looks healthy and well-rested.

"Hi," Harvey says. Mike glances at the clock and sees that it is 12:45. Apparently Harvey has noticed this too, because he stands up and prepares to leave the office, motioning for Mike to follow. "Come on, we'll talk on the way to Jessica's office."

Mike begins feeling nervous about this meeting again. He doesn't want to talk about The Dreaded Thing with anybody, much less his boss's boss. But he follows Harvey down the hall, trailing after him like an obedient puppy, ignoring Donna's sappy smile as she watches them walk by together.

"Alright, so here's the deal. You tell Jessica about your condition, you sign the papers, you go see the best neurologist you can find and you start trying new medications. We will deal with any side effects and get this damn thing under control," Harvey begins firmly, sounding like a war commander and the best closer in the legal field (which he is). Mike thinks maybe his seizures will go away purely out of fear of what Harvey will do if they come back.

"You are going to tell me if you have another seizure. I don't care if it happens outside of the office, both your neurologist and I are going to hear about it. Deal?" Harvey continues, and Mike is seized with the wild desire to shout "sir, yes sir!" and salute his boss. Instead he just settles for bobbing his head fervently in agreement.

"Good boy. You can do this, Mike. Trust me. It'll be fine," Harvey says. They have arrived at Jessica's office and Mike gulps back his nervousness.

Harvey knocks and ushers Mike inside, leading him to the desk where Jessica is waiting.

"Hello, Harvey, Mike," she says and both men greet her politely in reply. "Please have a seat." They sit, and Harvey places his hand on Mike's shoulder in a much-needed gesture of fortification. Mike takes a deep breath. _You can do this_.

"Now, Mike, I hear that an incident occurred yesterday and now you need a different insurance plan. Care to elaborate?" She says, not unkindly. But she is still intimidating.

Mike takes a deep breath. "Yes, ma'am. I had a seizure yesterday." He sits there for a minute and thinks about what to say next. He thinks about the fact that it's probably time for him to admit to himself that he is 25 almost 26 and his problem is not going anywhere, despite what one neurologist had told him 11 years ago. He thinks about the fact that he probably should look into getting some new medication and actually taking control of this thing. He thinks about how much better his life has gotten in the past year and about how proud his Grammy will be when she learns that he is learning to trust someone else. He thinks that maybe he will actually follow up and call his neurologist for once, because he doesn't want to let The Dreaded Thing to define his choices anymore. He thinks about how he wants to stop fearing that his own body and mind will betray him at any minute. He thinks about Donna's smile, Rachel's friendship, and the way that Harvey's hand is warm and supportive on his shoulder right now.

"I have epilepsy," Mike says finally, and it wasn't as hard to say as he thought it would be for all those years. Harvey's hand squeezes his shoulder gently and he thinks that Harvey is looking at him with something akin to pride in his eyes.

"I have epilepsy," he says again, the words rolling off his tongue easily this time. "And I want to get it under control. I'm sick of living with this fear, never knowing when I'll have a seizure. So if it would be possible, I'd like to upgrade my insurance plan to cover treatment."

"Of course, Michael," Jessica says. "We here at Pearson Hardman believe our employees deserve the medical best care out there. We'll do everything we can to help you, and we're all rooting for you to get control of this."

And that's that. He signs a bunch of insurance papers, calls his neurologist to schedule an appointment, and heads back to his cubicle.

He has read through a couple of files when Harvey comes to get him. "C'mon, rookie. We've got about 2000 pages of law books to read through this afternoon to find a precedent for the Wilkins' contract. So get off your ass and stop doing Louis's work. It reflects poorly on me when you pander to that idiot's bidding."

Mike just grins at this and stands to follow Harvey. Louis, Gregory, and Kyle are glaring at him enviously as Harvey snarks at him. Some things will never change. But a lot of things have changed, he realizes, as he glances at the clock on the way out of the associates' area. 3:26. It's been exactly 24 hours since The Dreaded Thing has come to pass, and Mike feels a lot different than he did yesterday. He realizes that the fear of his own mind is no longer suffocating him, and he feels lighter than he has in years. Harvey's got his back, his secrets are safe, and the future looks bright.

"Are you coming or what? Because you can read all 2000 pages by yourself if you want. I don't mind at all," Harvey calls back to him, and Mike hurries to catch up with him. 3:27. Time to get back to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**So...the first chapter of this was the first thing I ever attempted to write and I've done a good chunk of writing since then, so there might not be a lot of continuity in my writing style between the two chapters XD But people will sometimes randomly follow/favorite this story or ask me to continue it, and I got this plot bunny in my head and just had to write a second part, so here it goes- and it's a long chapter too :D I'm going to keep it marked as 'complete' because at this point I don't have any set plans for a third part, but I suppose you never know where the muse is going to take you. Hope you guys enjoy!  
**

* * *

**CHAPTER 2: Easier to Lie**

_And do what's right  
When everything is wrong  
It's easier to run  
It's easier to never have to look you in the eye  
It's easier to lie_

_-From "Easier to Lie" by Aqualung_

It starts out with small things.

Like the way that Mike's leg jiggles during meetings now, for example. Harvey has always likened his associate to a puppy, and basically everyone who has met Mike agrees that it's an accurate metaphor. So it's to be expected that Mike is somewhat twitchy and wriggly when forced to sit still for long periods of time, because he's never really grown out of his boyish energy. But _this_ is different than normal restless motion—different from the way that Harvey paces around his office or tosses his baseballs when he's thinking, different from Donna absentmindedly tapping her pen against her coffee cup as she schedules Harvey's meetings on the phone, and different from the way that Louis chomps down on his gum when he's proofreading particularly tricky briefs.

It's different because Mike never used to do it. And now that he's started, he can't stop and he can't control it.

Harvey barely notices at first. He's used to Mike loosening and pulling at his ridiculous skinny ties during meetings to entertain his hands while his brain is elsewhere occupied whizzing through legal information. He's accustomed to the way that Mike sometimes swivels his chair from side to side when talking to a client to give shake out his tense limbs. He's even grudgingly accepted the fact that, no, Mike will _not _refrain from chewing on pen caps during depositions, even if they're the nice kind of pens that Harvey bought for himself (only to then have Mike steal them and gnaw on them).

But then one day when he and Mike are sitting in a remarkably boring meeting with Jessica and an irate client, Harvey notices that his chair is shaking slightly, as is the end of the conference table that he and Mike are sitting at. Jessica is doing all the talking, trying to soothe Mr. Collins, so Harvey doesn't really need to pay any attention. He and Mike are here as a mere formality, since they are the ones who will actually be representing Mr. Collins in court. He and Mike know this case inside out, and Mr. Collins' fear that they've been unfairly assigned a particularly tough judge on purpose is completely unwarranted, so Harvey feels no remorse about tuning out and letting Jessica handle this one.

He subtly looks around, trying to figure out why the table and his chair are vibrating, before realizing that it's because Mike is bouncing his left leg up and down and his knee keeps hitting the table. He jabs Mike in the side and passes him a hastily-scrawled note.

_Unless you want to pay the damages from creating an earthquake that knocks this building over, you'd better keep both your feet firmly planted on the ground. _

Mike scans the note and looks slightly nonplussed, as though he hadn't realized that he was jiggling his leg at all, much less jiggling it with enough force to shake the table and Harvey's chair. He shrugs in Harvey's direction and crosses his legs so that they aren't moving any longer.

Harvey turns back and resumes the pretense of pretending to listen to Jessica and Mr. Collins, pleased with his ability to make Mike obey him. Maybe he has some hope of curbing his associate of his annoying habits yet. He notices out of the corner of his eye, however, that Mike has replaced the leg-jiggling with drumming his fingers against the table in agitation, and within 5 minutes Mike has uncrossed his legs and resumed bouncing the left one as though it's on fire and he can't sit still.

Harvey wants to chastise Mike, but it seems like the younger man genuinely can't help his restless movements. The meeting ends before Harvey gets a chance to harass Mike and figure out what's going on, so Harvey just files the incident away in his mind for further reflection.

In the days that follow, Harvey suddenly notices that Mike is doing it _all the time _and he wonders how long this has been going on before he noticed_. _It's like Mike has suddenly developed Restless Leg Syndrome, and Harvey desperately hopes that Mike hasn't been popping Ritalin or Adderall or something even worse to make up for not being allowed to smoke weed anymore. After all, it had been bad enough when the kid had slipped up after his grandmother's death a few months ago and started smoking again then. The last thing Mike needs to be dealing with right now is any other kind of substance abuse, especially when he's already trying to hide the massive secret that he never actually went to law school or even graduated from college.

There are other strange symptoms afoot that only add to Harvey's suspicions about what might be going on in Mike's life—Mike looks absolutely exhausted most of the time, for one, but yet somehow he's constantly wired with an unending stream of nervous energy that makes him incapable of sitting still, like an addict jonesing for a fix. And Harvey could swear that when Mike ran a hand through his hair last week, he saw a chunk of it fall out. He's more ramble-y than normal, and for someone who has an incredible memory, he's all of a sudden prone to repeating stories more than once, as though he can't remember who he's told what story to anymore. None of this is terribly noticeable or overt, but Harvey spends a lot of time with Mike so it all registers in his mind, and after Mike tells him the same joke twice in one week, Harvey adds 'repetition' to his steadily growing list of _Things Mike Has Been Doing Recently That Aren't Consistent with Typical Mike Behavior_.

And then there's the morning that Mike comes in to work late and with a strange bruise on his cheek when everything finally slots into place.

"Mike's ETA is approximately 10 seconds," Donna notifies him over the intercom. "I know you're mad that he's late, but go easy on the puppy, Harvey. He looks like he's had a rough night."

Harvey rolls his eyes at the way the Donna coddles Mike and barely looks up when the fake lawyer in question quietly enters the office, sidling up to Harvey's desk guiltily.

"Here are the files you wanted for the Martin consultation this morning," Mike says, and his words sound a little strange, as though his tongue is slightly numb with Novocain from the dentist.

"Care to tell me why you're giving them to me now at 9 o'clock instead of at 8 like I asked—" Harvey begins asking but the words die in his throat when he looks up at Mike for the first time since the younger man entered the office. Mike's left cheek has a nasty, painful-looking bruise on it, and he looks absolutely exhausted. Harvey frowns, hoping that Mike hasn't gotten himself mixed up in the world of drugs and dealing again. But unfortunately, all the signs seem to be pointing towards something of that nature—the nervous energy, the falling-out hair, the exhausted gaze, the mysterious bruises…

"We need to talk," Harvey says firmly. Mike looks frightened. Harvey doesn't want to do it—he doesn't want to care about anything going on in Mike's personal life, but he can't let something like this go. He has to get to the bottom of this, and even if he doesn't _want_ it to be true that Mike's becoming some sort of addict, he owes it to the kid to get him some help if it turns out to be the case. Now that Mike's grandmother is gone and Trevor is out of the picture, Harvey and Donna are the only people left in the kid's life. And Harvey knows that he won't be able to live with his conscience if he lets alarming behavior like this slide by unnoticed. Mike needs to know that there are people still out there who give a damn about his wellbeing and that he can't get away with drowning his sorrows in drugs. And even if it turns out that it _isn't_ drugs, something is clearly going on with his associate and Harvey feels the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, like a heavy stack of law books, to find out what it is.

He doesn't know why, exactly—after all, when he'd set out to look for an associate, he'd just wanted someone who would get the work done with no fuss and minimal amounts of smarmy ass-kissing. He hadn't expected Mike to come bursting into that hotel suite, toting that briefcase full of weed and a whole lot of emotional baggage behind him. When he'd hired the kid, he'd done it because he was impressed by Mike's mind and confidence—and now Mike had somehow wormed his way under Harvey's skin and he was stuck there, despite Harvey's best attempts to avoid getting attached.

So Harvey can't let this go on—Mike had been loyal to him during the D.A. scandal and he'd stuck by Harvey during the Hardman fiasco, so now it's Harvey's turn to repay the favor by pressing the issue until it hurts. The words _tough love _flash across his mind, causing memories of his own to bloom beneath his eyelids, swirling headily and drawing out a scene from when Harvey was much younger—practically still a teenager. As he regards Mike, sitting in front of him and looking so tense that he might strain something, he remembers himself sitting in much the same position in front of his father at age 20, shamefacedly confessing to getting a drinking ticket and asking for the money to pay off the fine. His father had said no, had told Harvey that he was the one who had messed up so he was the one who was going to get himself a job and earn the money to pay off his court fees and his ticket. Harvey had been enraged at the time and had thought his father was being too harsh and unforgiving—after all, Harvey had admitted that he had screwed up; why wouldn't his dad help him? What he hadn't understood at the time was that _that _had been tough love right there—that his dad had wanted him to learn to pick himself back up when he fell; to learn from the consequences of his actions so that he took responsibility for himself and didn't make the same mistake again. And that was when Harvey had gotten himself a job in the mail room of Pearson Hardman. And that was when he had meet Jessica Pearson.

He flashes forward to the present, almost 20 years later. Mike is still staring at him expectantly, his gaze wide with fear—the kid is definitely hiding _something_ and if Harvey's been reminded of anything this morning, it's that subtlety certainly isn't a strength of Mike's. He opens his mouth to begin sorting out what's going on when—

"Harvey, Ms. Martin is here," Donna calls over the intercom. Harvey swears under his breath and Mike looks utterly relieved as Hannah Martin enters the office, completely unaware of what she has just interrupted.

Harvey gets lost in a vortex of complex legalese then. It's comforting, in a way; being able to drown out all of his own problems and work on fixing someone else's—because this, _this _he can handle. He knows what to do when a managing partner wants to back out of a merger at the last second. He doesn't know what to do with an associate who might have some very real problems going on in his personal life, however.

But when Mike starts spouting off various clauses and gesturing emphatically at the contract, he seems like the same old Mike as ever and Harvey forgets about the whole situation for awhile. That is, until…

"Michael, would you mind not shaking the table like that? It's making it hard to read this contract," Hannah Martin asks Mike kindly. She and Mike are seated in the two chairs in front of Harvey's desk and Mike's leg is bouncing as quickly as ever, his motions jarring the desk slightly.

"Sorry, Ms. Martin," Mike says politely, but he doesn't stop moving his leg.

"Mike," Harvey says firmly. "Stop moving your leg."

Mike looks up at Harvey, his eyes wide. He suddenly looks much younger than 28. "I can't," he says quietly. "I can't stop, Harvey." He sounds frightened now, and it makes Harvey's chest ache strangely.

Harvey looks from Mike's shaking leg to his twitching hands to the bruise on his face to the strange way he had spoken when he had entered the office and suddenly all the pieces slide into place and everything makes sense. He feels a deep, jarring sense of relief that it's not drugs like he had suspected. But this relief is mixed with an equal amount of concern as the revelation of what is really going on hits him. He wonders how on earth it had taken him so long to catch on, because now it all seems so _obvious._

"Okay," Harvey says, taking things in stride. "Okay," he repeats as though it's not a big deal and he hasn't just suddenly realized why Mike's been acting so strangely lately. "Mike, will you go get Hannah and I some coffee while we finish up here?"

Mike nods gratefully and ducks out of the office. Hannah watches him leave, her lovely face wrinkled in concern. "Is he alright, Harvey?" She's a kind woman, very maternal. Harvey could probably tell her the truth; she wouldn't care and she'd be very understanding. But it's really none of Harvey's business to go around spilling Mike's private life to random clients.

"Yes, he's fine," Harvey lies. "Just a little over-caffeinated. He was here late last night working and he probably drank about two pots of coffee this morning to make up for it."

They finish up their meeting shortly thereafter, which is good because Harvey can't concentrate any longer. As soon as he shows Hannah to the elevator, he turns on his heel and heads back to his office, hoping to catch Mike there with the coffee.

Mike is just leaving as Harvey walks up to his office door.

"Oh, hey, Harvey," he says casually, but he is talking quickly and looks nervous. "I left the coffees on your desk; I'm just going to go—"

"Oh, no, you don't," Harvey says, dragging Mike back into his office by the sleeve of his suit jacket and shutting the door. Donna looks up from her desk, her expression curious. Harvey subtly shakes his head at her, his expression grave, and he sees her unplug the intercom. He knows it'll kill her to not hear every word being exchanged, but she knows when to butt out. He'll be too self-conscious to say what he needs to say if he knows that Donna is listening and might make fun of him for 'caring' later.

"Sit," he instructs Mike simply, and Mike does as he is bade. Normally he flops all over Harvey's office furniture without a care in the world, but today he perches tentatively on the edge of the sofa, his arms folded in his lap and his right leg bouncing nervously.

"Harvey, I really should be getting back to work—"

But Harvey isn't called the best closer in New York for nothing, and these basic diversion tactics haven't worked on him for years. "Have some coffee, Mike," he says, thinking of the strange way Mike had spoken earlier that morning; like his tongue was numb. He walks over to his desk and grabs the two hot mugs. "You can have Ms. Martin's since she left."

Mike shakes his head. "No thanks, Harvey. I don't want coffee today."

But Harvey brandishes the mug in Mike's face until he begrudgingly takes it out of Harvey's hands. "You look exhausted and it's disturbing to the clients. Plus you need the caffeine if you're going to be of any help to me today. Drink."

Mike's eyes dart around for a moment as he tries to come up with a plausible excuse for why he can't drink the coffee, but finding none, he takes a reluctant sip of the warm liquid, wincing as soon as it hits his tongue.

Harvey smiles triumphantly at Mike's grimace, but it's a hollow sort of triumph because it means that his suspicions have just been confirmed. "So," he says nonchalantly, taking a seat across from Mike. "When were you planning on telling me that you had another seizure?"

Mike splutters and chokes on the mouthful of coffee and Harvey thumps him on the back a few times. "I don't know what you're talking about," Mike says tersely, and his eyes are darting around the office again, this time looking for an escape route.

"No? So how did you get that bruise on your cheek then? And I'd be willing to bet my favorite car that you bit your tongue, didn't you?" Harvey says these things with a questioning inflection, but they're not really questions. More so just statements of fact.

"I tripped," Mike says weakly, twisting his fingers together anxiously. "I tripped and bumped my cheek on the counter and bit my tongue on the way down. That's all."

"Oh, I believe that you hit your cheek and bit your tongue. But you didn't trip, did you, Mike?" Harvey says. Mike looks panicked now, so Harvey deliberately softens his tone, as though he's talking to an injured animal. "It's your meds that have been causing all these strange side effects, isn't it? The restless legs, your hair falling out— it's all because of your antiepileptic medicine. But it's not working and now you've had another seizure."

"No," Mike denies it fiercely, but Harvey can see the truth in his tired, tortured blue eyes. "Please, Harvey. Just leave it. I tripped, okay? Don't worry," he whispers.

"But I can't just leave it, Mike," Harvey says, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. He studiously ignores the fact that Mike is blinking rapidly and that his eyes are watery and braces himself to go in for the kill; to admit something to Mike that he would never admit to anyone else besides Donna or his little brother. "Because I _am _worried."

And with that admission, the floodgates open. Mike jumps to his feet and begins pacing. "Alright, fine. I had a seizure this morning. Are you happy now?!" He shouts angrily, dragging his hands through his hair. Harvey sees a few short strands come away with Mike's hands but wisely chooses not to comment.

Harvey knows that Mike's not really angry at him, but that he needs some outlet for his anger—after all, Mike's own brain is the enemy in this case. That's not an easy thing to process and cope with, and Mike certainly isn't one for talking about his epilepsy. Harvey thought they'd made a lot of progress when Mike had told Jessica that he needed to his insurance updated to cover treatment, but he can see now that they'd barely scratched the surface back then. After all, in the months that have followed since Mike's first seizure, Harvey has never heard him mention it again. He knows that Mike has gone to the neurologist for it and started taking medicine, but Mike never talks about it. So it had just kind of slipped Harvey's mind. Until now…

"Of course I'm not happy, you idiot," Harvey says, wondering if Mike would sit down if he asked him to. He remembers how bone tired Mike was the last time he'd had a seizure and he certainly looks exhausted right now. "Were you actually planning on _telling _someone that you had a seizure this morning? Or were you just going to hope no one noticed?"

Mike glares at Harvey. "What—was I supposed to come in and tell you 'oh, yes, Harvey, sorry I'm late but despite the fact that I've been taking powerful drugs for months, my brain still can't keep it's shit together and I've had another seizure. Here are the papers you wanted; I'll just be on my way to go pace around the associate bullpen for a few hours since I _can't fucking sit still anymore'_? Yeah, right, Harvey."

"No," Harvey says, his voice calm and clinical. One of them has to keep it together during this discussion, and he figures Mike is somewhat entitled to a meltdown right now—god knows the kid has probably just been bottling all this up the past few months. "No. You were _supposed _to call me right after it happened so that I could come take you to the hospital. Because you promised that you'd tell me if this happened again."

"Yeah, right," Mike scoffs. He collapses back on the couch, much to Harvey's secret relief. "You yelled at me in that meeting with Mr. Collins last week just for bouncing my leg. If you can't cope with the side effects of my medicine, why would I expect you to want to deal with an actual seizure?"

"Because I didn't know that was a side effect from the medicine, Mike!" Harvey says defensively, frustration seeping into his tone. "Jesus, kid, I thought you had starting using drugs or something. Frankly, it's a relief to find out that this is all related to your epilepsy and not to some secret meth habit. And you don't give me enough credit—I said I would help you deal with this, but you won't let me. How am I supposed to help if you don't _tell me these things_?"

"Because it's embarrassing, Harvey!" Mike exclaims, and Harvey knows they've arrived at the heart of the matter. "I'm almost 30 years old, for Christ's sake, and I've suddenly developed the attention span of a 5-year-old on a sugar rush. Not to mention the fact that I can't sleep at night, I can't stop moving my legs, and my hair is falling out. Nobody wants to talk about that kind of stuff."

"Well, I do," Harvey says. Mike looks surprised. "Mike, when I said that we'd get your seizures under control, I meant _we. _I'm sorry that I haven't taken a more active role in helping you deal with all of this the past few months, but we've all been busy fixing the damage from Hardman's regime. And from now on, I want to know these kinds of things—if your medication is working, if there are any side effects, if you have another seizure…just _tell _me, kid. Have you at least talked to your neurologist about any of this?"

Mike shrugs miserably. "What is there to talk about? He warned me about these side effects when I started taking the medicine. I knew it could happen. And for the most part, I could deal with the side effects—they sucked, but it was worth it for awhile. I made it almost 4 months without a seizure so I thought 'hey, you know, who cares if I can't sleep or sit still and that chunks of hair fall out every time I wash it?' But then it didn't even work and I had another seizure and I've been wasting my time taking this crap and feeling shitty because of the side effects and now I'm just going to have to start all over again and try yet _another _new medication—" Mike pauses to draw in a deep breath before deflating and rubbing at his eyes wearily. "I'm sorry. It's just frustrating."

"Understandable," Harvey says simply, promptingly; hoping that Mike will keep talking.

"It's just frustrating because—I don't know, I just feel like I lose a part of myself every time it happens. Like there's a piece of me just gone—I know I got up this morning and showered and ate breakfast. I know that I turned the coffee pot on. But I don't remember doing any of it—I just barely remember waking up on my kitchen floor with my cheek throbbing, my tongue swelling, and a fresh pot of coffee all brewed on the counter. That's it. It's just—there's nothing there," Mike says, and Harvey finds himself oddly nauseous as he envisions all the ways that this morning could have ended disastrously for his associate—_what if Mike had had a seizure when he was walking down the stairs and had fallen? After all, there are a lot of stairs in that death trap of an apartment building he calls home. Or what if he had had one while he was riding his bike to work and had fallen into the street and been hit by a car? _

And if this could really happen at any time, _what if Mike had a seizure when he was standing by a large body of water and he fell in and drowned? What if he was standing on a ladder and had a seizure and fell? What if—_

"Harvey? Are you in there?" Mike asks, cautiously waving a hand in front of Harvey's eyes until Harvey blinks, dispelling a rather haunting mental image of Mike lying crumpled and bleeding on the ground. He wonders if Mike would consent to wearing a suit made of bubble wrap— after all, he has Rene at his disposal and Rene can make _any _kind of suit and somehow make it fashionable.

"What—yes, of course. Now, are you going to call your neurologist or do I have to do it for you?" Harvey asks. He doesn't really mean it about calling the neurologist on Mike's behalf, he mostly just said it to prompt Mike into action, because surely Mike will want to call for himself…

"Um," Mike says articulately after a moment of silence. "Um, would you—would you mind calling for me?"

"Oh," Harvey says, surprised. Normally this would be the perfect time to make some joke about Mike being a child, but the younger man sounds so insecure about having asked that Harvey finds he doesn't have the heart to make fun of him. "Sure. What's the number?"

So that's how he winds up talking to Mike's doctor, a man named Dr. Levinson. He explains the situation as best as he can—Mike's medicine has been causing unfavorable side effects, it's stopped working, he needs a consultation and probably a new medication, etc.

"Why don't you bring Mike in for an appointment next Tuesday? Is that alright, Mr. Specter?"

"Oh, I'm not—" Harvey starts to say, before realizing that it's probably a good idea if he accompanies Mike to the neurologist this time. It's probably for the best that he knows everything possible about what medicines and treatments Mike is on so that he understands if Mike starts having any strange side effects again. He should have known what was going on from the start, and he didn't intend to make the same mistake again. "Yes, I'll bring him next Tuesday."

"Good, good. I'm glad someone will be coming along this time and driving him. He showed up alone the last time he came in a few months ago—he had ridden his bike through the freezing cold to get to the office and it took him a good half an hour to stop shivering," Dr. Levinson says, and Harvey feels a surge of guilt run through his veins. He looks over at Mike, who is oblivious to Dr. Levinson's side of the conversation. He is staring innocently out the window, and Harvey thinks that he has never met someone who gives him such conflicting desires—half of him wants to grab Mike by the shoulders and shake him and then punch him on the arm for his complete lack of common sense (gently, though—he's probably sore and bruised from his seizure earlier in the morning) and the other half of him wants to bundle Mike's thin frame up in endless amounts of jackets and scarves and hats so that he doesn't shiver for half-hour increments at a time and hurt himself should he have a seizure and fall.

"Okay, we'll see you Tuesday," Harvey says and he bids the doctor farewell.

"Well, that's all taken care of," he tells Mike. "You have an appointment next Tuesday afternoon. Unfortunately I'll have to take you myself," Harvey says, and he adds in a dramatic sigh for effect before he continues on. "—it's Ray's day off and I _know _it'll take you forever to ride your bike there and back because you'll probably dawdle and stop to feed some pigeons or something, so I'll just have to drive you to save time. After all, I foresee needing you to proofread a lot of briefs that day." Mike rolls his eyes at the prospect of proofreading and Harvey's put-upon attitude, but looks relieved that Harvey is coming to the appointment too.

He stands. "Well, I had better get back to work before you decide we need to have a heart-to-heart about something else."

Harvey arches an eyebrow, offended that anyone would accuse him of frequently initiating heart-to-hearts. "You do that," he says, loading Mike up with a stack of files. "Donna has Tylenol at her desk, you know. Might help with your bruise."

"I'm not 5, Harvey," Mike scoffs, puffing out his chest slightly as though trying to look bigger. "I think I can handle one little bruise on my cheek—" his voice dies down at the end of the phrase and all of a sudden he looks strangely pale.

He sways slightly and drops the stack of files that Harvey had spent a good ten minutes alphabetizing that morning. "Harvey," he says, and his voice sounds oddly strained and quiet, but it is undoubtedly tinged with panic. "Harvey, `m gonna—"

"Shit," Harvey exhales, and he lunges forward as Mike's eyes roll back in his head and his legs, which suddenly look remarkably like spaghetti noodles, give out completely from underneath him. Harvey feels a sharp jolt of relief when he is just in time to catch Mike before the side of his head hits the coffee table. The two of them drop to the floor, Mike's upper body resting partially on Harvey's lap. Harvey cradles Mike's head in his hands so that he doesn't bang it on anything as his body convulses and seizes uncontrollably. He does his best to maneuver Mike so that he's lying on his side and won't suffocate or choke but after that, all he can really do is sit back and wait for it to stop.

He's forgotten how scary seizures are—he had never seen one before he saw Mike have one in the office a few months ago, and that memory is hazy and blurry from adrenaline and confusion, since that was before he had known about Mike's condition. This time around, though, everything is terrifying crisp and clear. In this moment, he is startlingly aware of the way that Mike's body is shaking and spasming in his arms; startlingly aware of how fragile and mortal and breakable his associate really is.

And he hates it—he hates feeling helpless like this; helpless to stop this from happening. He has always prided himself on his ability to gain control over any situation and manipulate the variables to get what he wants—but he can't do anything to fix this, except pull Mike a little closer as the spasms start to die down.

Suddenly Donna is there, her face concerned. "Oh god, Harvey, should I call for an ambulance? Is he okay?"

She comes to kneel next to him and gently begins smoothing the hair from Mike's eyes, her gaze soft and maternal. Mike's full-body convulsing has dissipated into a stream of sudden jerks of random limbs, but his eyes are still closed and he's not present with them.

"No," Harvey says, and he is slightly ashamed that his voice comes out as a croak. "No. He'll just be mad and embarrassed if he wakes up in the hospital. Can you call his neurologist? I was just talking to him about making an appointment for Mike; the number will be listed in my most recent calls. Ask him if we should bring Mike in to the hospital."

Donna steps away to call the neurologist and Harvey returns his attention to his protégé. Mike has completely stopped shaking at this point, and he begins blinking slowly, opening his eyes and coming back to himself. Harvey knows from experience that Mike will be groggy and lethargic and will most likely want to sleep for the next several hours. What he isn't expecting is for Mike to suddenly push his way out of the half-embrace that Harvey has him in and lurch into a kneel.

"—'m gonna puke," Mike gasps out, and Harvey quickly dives for the garbage can before Mike can ruin the luxurious carpeting on his office floor. He awkwardly pats Mike on the back while he retches, feeling great sympathy for his associate right now—the kid has had one hell of a day so far—two seizures, a bruise on the cheek, a bitten tongue, and now vomiting? He has a feeling that he's going to have to give Mike the day off tomorrow to recover. Or the next several days.

When Mike finally stops throwing up, he sits back, his face sweaty and his eyes glazed and dull, open but not really seeing. The circles around his eyes are so dark and deep that he's starting to look like a living skeleton. Donna magically appears with a cup of water then, and Mike rinses out his mouth, his movements clumsy and tired. He curls up into a ball half way under the coffee table, apparently content to fall asleep there.

"Where are we?" Mike rasps hoarsely after a minute or two.

"I'm in my office. _You _are under my coffee table," Harvey says.

"Oh," Mike responds, making no attempt to move. Suddenly his head pokes back out from under the table. "_Oh. _Harvey—I'm sorry. In your office, shit, people in the hallway probably saw—"

"It doesn't matter, Mike," Harvey says, waving off his concerns. Mike looks worried, but he seems too engaged in an epic battle to keep his eyes open to muster up the energy to respond or continue to be worried.

"The neurologist said to keep a close eye on him and have him sleep it off tonight. Take him to the hospital if it happens again. And you're to bring him in for his appointment tomorrow instead of on Tuesday now," Donna whispers in his ear, placing a cool, damp cloth on Mike's forehead that she somehow miraculously conjured out of thin air.

"Alright, Mike— up and at `em," Harvey says loudly near Mike's ear, shaking Mike's shoulder gently. The younger man is basically asleep now, and although Harvey works out pretty often, there's no way that he'll be able to lift Mike's dead weight onto the couch. He's going to need Mike to be at least semi-conscious for a little bit.

"Shhhh," Mike mumbles sleepily. He scowls fiercely in Harvey's direction, but the overall effect is somewhat mitigated by the fact that he's got his eyes closed and that he looks much younger than 28 curled up like this.

"Mike, you've got to help me out a little bit here," Harvey says, determinedly shaking Mike's shoulder again. Mike tries to bat Harvey's hand away, but misses completely and smacks it against the coffee table.

"Ow," he groans, opening his eyes and staring reproachfully at the coffee table.

"Alright, time to get up," Harvey says coaxingly.

"Fine," Mike says grumpily, still glaring at the table. "That was mean."

Clearly Mike is still disoriented and beyond reason right now, so Harvey rolls his eyes and plays along. "Yes, that was very mean of the table. Now it's time to move away from it and sleep on the couch, okay?"

Harvey manages to help Mike up and he half-drags, half-carries him the two foot distance to the couch, where he instantly falls back asleep.

"If you need me to come and sit with him while you take a lunch break, let me know, Harvey," Donna says before patting him on the shoulder and returning to her desk to field the calls she had missed during the past half hour.

But Harvey doesn't leave his office for lunch. He sits at his desk and works through the afternoon, glancing up every few minutes to make sure that Mike isn't having another seizure. When dinner time comes around, Donna brings him a panini from a deli down the street before heading home herself. Harvey is loathe to wake Mike and he has a lot to do, so he just sits and keeps on chugging through paperwork, making up for the work that Mike is missing right now. And if he happens to get up and drape the jacket of his spare suit over Mike's shoulders when he sees that Mike is shivering in his sleep; well, it's not like anyone is there to see it happen. The glass walls of his office hold the imprint of many long forgotten secrets, what's one more?

* * *

When Mike wakes up, he is distinctly confused and disoriented. The last time he remembers being awake was the late morning, but now it's dark in Harvey's office and he has no clue what time it is or why on _earth_ he's been sleeping on Harvey's precious couch with Harvey's suit jacket tucked around him. Then he feels his swollen, painful tongue and recognizes the distinct bitter aftertaste that accompanies vomiting, and it all hits him like a ton of bricks.

He sits up so fast that he cricks his neck.

"Glad to see you're still alive," Harvey's voice comes from over by his desk, sounding surprisingly sincere for what would generally be a sarcastic comment coming from the older man. Mike cranes his neck to look over at his mentor, feeling several of his stiff joints crack.

"Harvey—oh god, I'm really sorry—" he realizes that he has the distinct memory of yelling at his boss about how much his life sucks and then having a seizure after and decides that he officially wants to curl up in a hole and die. "—a seizure in your office in front of everyone…and I didn't look at the Landon briefs this afternoon like I was supposed to and I missed a meeting for housing court…_shit._"

"Are you quite finished?" Harvey asks, sounding remarkably calm given the fact that Mike has just been asleep on his couch for the past—he glances at the clock and blanches— _eight hours _when he should have been working.

"Why aren't you mad? Aren't you going to—I don't know, at least lecture me or something?"

"No," Harvey says, and his voice is almost…friendly, like he's attempting to be reassuring. It sends chills down Mike's spine. This is going to be bad.

"Oh, come on. You're not even going to give me the 'Unproductive Associates Will Be Taken to the Dog Kennel and Abandoned There Permanently' lecture?" Mike asks incredulously. That is one of Harvey's favorite lectures, and it's also his longest—at _least_ 21 minutes long. Sometimes 23 if he really gets going. It's much worse than the daily 'Late Associates Will Be Forced to Eat Cat Food' lecture—although that one is still rife with an unfortunate amount of puppy references, it's only 6 minutes long.

"Nope," Harvey says. "You know why, Mike? Because you couldn't help having a seizure, and it's not your fault that you were tired after. So I'm not angry. Here, you want some of this sandwich?"

Mike eyes him suspiciously. "Is it poisoned? Why are you being so nice to me?"

Harvey rolls his eyes, his newfound patience abandoned in the face of his associate's obliviousness. "No, it's not poisoned. If I wanted to kill you, I'd at least wait until after the Riordan trial next week so that I wouldn't have to proofread the witness testimonies—do you think I would actually waste my valuable time on that kind of paperwork when I could keep you alive to do it for me?"

"Oh," Mike says faintly, feeling strangely touched.

"Look, Mike, like I said, it wasn't your fault. So forget about it, okay, kid? Now come eat something. You'll need your strength, because we've got a fight ahead of us to sort this all out— and we _will _get your seizures under control this time around, understood?"

"Sir, yes sir," Mike salutes Harvey cheekily before realizing that his stomach is growling fiercely. He then proceeds to not only eat Harvey's entire sandwich, but also the secret bag of chips that Harvey keeps in the office to munch on during late nights, as well as two granola bars from Donna's stash.

Normally after having a seizure he feels like his body is a fragile, alien thing and he is terrified of himself and of having another one. But that night as he beds down on the ridiculously comfy couch at his boss's apartment, he realizes that he feels strangely safe for the first time in a long time as he listens to the sounds of Harvey getting ready for bed in the background. He would probably wonder what that meant if he had the energy to do anything besides sleep for another 8 hours.

* * *

In the days and weeks that follow, Harvey makes good on his promise to do his best to help Mike get his life and his brain together, much to Mike's amazement. He brings Mike to his doctor's appointment and actually sits in the examination room during the appointment instead of out in the waiting room. Oddly enough, he seems to listen intently and actively participates in the discussion with Dr. Levinson, describing some of the side effects Mike has been experiencing from his perspective and recounting the story of the second seizure Mike had in the office. And if that isn't surprising enough, Harvey actually sticks up for Mike when Dr. Levinson suggests that Mike should stay on the same medication and, in fact, up the dosage of it.

_"Surely you aren't suggesting that Mike should stay on this medicine, Dr. Levinson. Look at him—he can barely sit still, he can't sleep, and he's still having seizures. I don't know what they teach you in medical school, but I don't need an MD to tell you that something here isn't working," _Harvey had said, fixing Dr. Levinson with his best please-stop-being-an-idiot look. Mike can't help but smile at this because it's weird to see that look directed at someone else besides him.

"_Well, Mr. Specter, in all fairness, the medicine __**has **__been doing some good—this is the first time that Mike has ever been able to feel a seizure coming on early enough that he could articulate that he was about to have a one before it happened. I find that to be encouraging, and if we stick with this medicine, Mike may one day be able to predict his seizures before they happen," _Dr. Levinson had pointed out.

_"Yeah, he was able to call for my attention right before it happened, but it wasn't like we could __**do **__anything about it at that point—not to mention that that was the second seizure he'd had that day. Surely that indicates that a change of treatment is needed," _Harvey had refused to take 'no' for an answer, and Mike had watched in awe. He couldn't remember the last time that someone had been such a strong advocate for him. His grammy hadn't been well enough to attend his doctor's appointments for several years, and once he was a teenager he had tried to avoid bringing her anyway so that she wouldn't worry about him. But Harvey was here, and he was determined to get Dr. Levinson to do what was best for Mike. It made Mike feel oddly warm inside in a way that he hadn't felt since the last time he had hugged Grammy before she had died.

_"Well, I suppose that we could try a new medicine that would eliminate some of these troubling side effects, but frankly I'd like to determine what exactly it is that's causing these seizures in the first place. We need to treat the root cause, not just the symptoms. Mike, have you ever been to Johns Hopkins?" _Dr. Levinson had asked then, and Harvey had looked satisfied with the doctor's proactive response.

Dr. Levinson had recommended that Mike go to Johns Hopkins for a week-long stay at their prestigious epilepsy center, where they would run a gamut of tests and try to induce a seizure to see what was going on inside his brain when one occurred.

So that's why he's currently sitting on a plane to Baltimore, waiting for take-off and drumming his fingers nervously on the armrest of his seat.

Harvey has been surprisingly good about giving Mike the week off, and didn't even given Mike any paperwork to take with, so now Mike finds himself with nothing to do but sit with his thoughts and worry.

It's times like this when he really misses Grammy—he longs for her steady, soothing presence in the same way that he had often longed for his parents to miraculously come back home when he was younger. He wishes she were sitting next to him right now, holding his hand and telling him that everything is going to be okay. Instead he's going to have to face this week all alone—which is fine; really it is—he's an adult and he doesn't need someone to come with him to Johns Hopkins. And now that Grammy is gone and Trevor is out of the picture, there's really no one left to shoulder this burden with him. Although Mike thinks of Harvey as more than just a boss, he doesn't know that Harvey necessarily returns the sentiment, and he can hardly expect the busy lawyer to drop everything to come sit at Mike's bedside in the epilepsy clinic for a week. So he sits alone, wishing that he could blink and have the week be over.

He does blink then, but there is no magical time-traveling. Instead, he opens his eyes to find Harvey standing in front of him in the aisle of the plane.

"Budge up, I'm not going to climb over you and I prefer the aisle seat," is Harvey's greeting, and Mike dutifully moves to sit in the empty seat next to the window, gaping at Harvey in complete bewilderment the entire time.

"What—you're here?" is Mike's articulate response to Harvey's sudden presence.

"A cunning and clever observation, Mike," Harvey says, opening his briefcase and pulling out a file. "I have business in Baltimore this week, coincidentally, and it just so happens to be the same days that you'll there. So anyway, I'm going to need you to look over this contract before we land. I'm afraid I'll probably have to break you out of the hospital at some point to come help me."

"Okay," Mike says merrily, much cheered by the prospect of getting to keep busy with some form of work while cooped up in the hospital.

"And I'll probably have to spend a lot of time at the epilepsy center with you so that we can go over the paperwork for this case, so don't think you can't get away with lying in bed and sleeping all week," Harvey says. Mike rolls his eyes, but he is so pleased by the fact that he will have someone there to visit him and sit with him that he forgets to respond sarcastically.

Instead he opens up the file and begins reading. "Wait a second, Harvey. These are the Trenton files. You said you weren't going to take on their case because they were too far away and you didn't want to go to Baltimore…did you just agree to defend them because you knew that I'd be in Baltimore at Johns Hopkins?" Mike asks, a smile beginning to stretch across his face.

"Don't be ridiculous," Harvey sniffs loftily. "Why would I do a thing like that? I obviously took on the case because the Trenton family name needs defending, and I can't stand by in good conscience and let them lose their case. It just so _happens _that they're based in Baltimore. It has nothing to do with you, so you can get that ridiculous smile off your face and start reading," he says, but it lacks its usual conviction and Harvey doesn't even complain when Mike falls asleep on his shoulder instead of reading the contract. When Mike wakes up, he realizes that it's all going to be okay—sure, it might take some time to get his epilepsy under control, but it'll be alright. Because even though he lost his Grammy, he still has someone who's willing to fly several states away to be with him while he undergoes a daunting set of procedures. And Harvey might not ever explicitly admit it, but Mike knows the truth, and he's eternally grateful for it.

So he doesn't mind when Harvey climbs through the window of his room at the epilepsy center at 3 in the morning to make Mike proofread bylaws. And he doesn't complain when Harvey eats the really good blue jell-o they give him every single day, even though it's Mike's favorite flavor—or at least, he doesn't complain _much. _But he has to complain at least a little bit to keep up the illusion on Harvey's behalf.

Because if Harvey still thinks he's getting away with the whole I-don't-care-about-anyone-but-myself thing, he's seriously deluded. But Mike's definitely not going to be the one to tell him that.

* * *

**So that's that, hopefully you all enjoyed my cruel torture of Mike XD I should point out that I am by no means an expert on epilepsy—every case is different and every person has different kinds and lengths of seizures and different reactions afterwards—this is all just based on what I know from my sister's experiences with the many strange side effects that accompany trying different antiepileptic medications (and she would literally kill me if she knew that I was writing stories about it so shhh XD). Anyway, I'm off to catch a flight to Europe :D :D Thanks for reading!  
**


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